


Hazy Shade of Winter

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Cuddling, Enemies to Lovers, Fake Relationship, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Secret Relationship, bed sharing, meet cute, otp prompts, parent Zimbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Winter themed Zimbits One-shots of how these two fall in love again, and again, and again.After a long pause, Eric slowly let his hand fall onto Jack’s and their fingers tangled together.  Jack felt the warmth shooting from the tips of his fingers, straight into his thumping heart, and they both grinned.  They didn’t know each other yet…but there was time.There was plenty of time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing winter-themed one-shot OTP prompts from [this list](http://chocolatechipcookiesplease.tumblr.com/post/168519237568/90-tropey-prompts-for-your-otp) on tumblr. Total of 7 chapters. Trying to get back into the writing groove and get as much done as I can during my winter hols. (: I'll update tags as needed for each prompt.
> 
> Prompt A- Meet Cute: You stole my umbrella, you punk! Oh wait… we just have the same umbrella and I left mine on the bus…

Leaves are brown, now  
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter  
Hang on to your hopes, my friend  
That's an easy thing to say  
But if your hopes should pass away  
Simply pretend That you can build them again  
-Simon and Garfunkle

*** 

It had been…a day. Which was putting it mildly considering Jack was now on the public bus, of all places, with a Pens hat tucked low over his brows, huddled in a nondescript hoodie, just trying to be unnoticed. Normally it wasn’t that difficult. Providence was a hockey town, sure, but hockey was still a niche sport and only the most rabid fans really recognized him on the day to day.

Except normally he wasn’t ducking out of the arena trying to avoid rabid paps because some photos of his parents on a nude beach from 1989 had been leaked _somehow_ , and now people wanted a word with him. When Jack spotted the gaggle of people by his car—and seriously what the _hell_ was up with security today??—he’d fled. It was a panic response, not one of logic.

But it was how Jack found himself on the bus as it sloshed through the torrential, freezing cold winter sleet, next to a younger man who had half his face tucked into a scarf, his eyes fixated on his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. Jack reached in between them absently, touching the handle of his umbrella—something to ground him a little in this shit-show of a situation, then he sighed and sat back and let his eyes drift closed.

He felt the bus come to a stop, the one right before his own, and he felt the stranger next to him move. Jack’s eyes slid open a fraction just to watch him go, and he almost closed them again until he realised the stranger was carrying off his umbrella.

It was the stress of the day probably, because it was just a damn umbrella and Jack had at least two spares at home. But suddenly he was up on his feet and rushing for the doors that were starting to close. He ignored the rain pelting him as he chased the Falconer’s blue down the pavement, trying to keep up with the fast pace of the stranger.

Jack’s arm shot out before he really realised what he was doing, and his fingers clamped down on the man’s forearm. There was a squeak of surprise, and as Jack spun him, the man threw himself back against a shop window, one arm coming up to shield his face. Out of fear.

Fear of Jack.

His face bloomed hot with shame and worry. “No I,” Jack said, holding his hands up. He squinted against the water pouring in his face, and he took a step back as his jaw began to shiver in the cold. “Sorry I…you just. You stole my umbrella!” He pointed accusingly, his ire returning now that the man’s face had gone from terrified to confused, to something akin to angry.

“Sorry sir, but I did _not_ steal anyone’s umbrella. I would hardly steal anything, let alone something like that. Especially on a rainy day!” The man’s accent was thick, southern, his tone as indignant as the arms he crossed over his chest. “And I’ll thank you not to go accusing innocent bystanders of such things.”

“This is my umbrella,” Jack insisted, and reached for the handle.

The man ripped it back away from him. “Excuse me, but there is no way. I had this custom made.” He dropped it, ignoring the frigid water now pouring on his face, so he could brandish the side which…

Oh.

_Oh._.

The sides weren’t decorated with small images of the Falconer’s logo. It was decorated with small pies.

Jack’s face went bright red, and he dragged a hand down his cheeks, grimacing at how sopping wet he was. “I’m…” He sighed, then blinked suddenly, with surprise, because the rain wasn’t falling on him anymore. The stranger had lifted the umbrella over the both of them, stepping close into Jack’s space. He was much shorter, so he was forced to look up at Jack, but he didn’t look annoyed anymore with the soft grin on his face. It struck Jack suddenly, how good looking he was, even dripping with rain. “It’s been a bad day,” Jack finished lamely.

The guy laughed quietly, then stuck out his free hand. “My name is Eric.”

Jack took it, feeling the cold weight of it against his own palm. “Jack.”

“Well Jack, seeing as it’s been a day, how would you like a cup of coffee and maybe a muffin?”

Jack hesitated. What he really wanted was to go home and change out of his wet clothes. He’d need to call George so someone could get his car home, and he needed her to deal with PR so the pap would stop hounding him. In fact, standing out here in the open, just a few blocks from where he lived was dangerous enough, considering he’d been stopped outside his place before. The last thing he wanted to do after accusing this man of stealing from him, was subject him to paparazzi gossip.

“I can’t,” Jack said.

The man’s face fell. “I understand. I didn’t mean it like…I mean, it wasn’t like _that_. I just…you seemed like you could use something nice.”

“I could,” Jack blurted. “I didn’t mind um…” He flushed, and shook his head. “It’s just not a good idea for me to be out right now. We could…my place?” He bit the inside of his cheek lightly, because he never did that. He had never invited some stranger over, but Eric had been so nice, and he’d looked hurt and Jack’s stomach twisted with a mixture of wanting Eric to stay, and guilt for being the one to put that look on his face.

Eric brightened. “Tell you what, if you’ve got baking supplies, I can take care of muffins and coffee for us at your place.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “I might?” he offered.

“I lived in a frat haus in college,” Eric said, elbowing him lightly. “You’d be surprised what I can make work. Come on, Jack, why don’t you lead the way, and I’ll keep us dry.”

Jack nodded, and found he really, really didn’t mind the way Eric kept the umbrella overhead, and kept himself pressed close to Jack’s side.

*** 

Jack felt strangely nervous as they stepped into his apartment. He peeled the hoodie off, draping it across the back of a chair as he watched Eric shake out his hair, then strip his coat off.

“Can I get you something dry?” Jack offered. “I’m not sure what I have will fit well but…”

Eric chuckled. “I’m okay, I didn’t get it as badly as you did.” Eric’s face fell after a second, then he said, “What did happen to your umbrella?”

Jack’s eyes widened, and he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling half desperate to just run and get out of the wet clothes. The feeling of them sticking to his skin was starting to overwhelm all of his thoughts. “I don’t…” He shrugged, then said, “Would you excuse me for a minute?”

He couldn’t help how quickly he rushed from the room, and he knew how awful and impolite it was, but he couldn’t take another second of it. He found sweats, and after towelling off, the soft, dry clothes were like heaven against his still-chilled skin. He swapped into a fresh pair of socks, then walked back to the living room where Eric was still stood, looking a little out of place.

“I’m sorry,” Jack blurted. “I don’t like being in wet clothes.”

“Think nothing of it,” Eric said. “But if you’d like to show me your kitchen…”

Jack wasted no time letting Eric have free reign over everything. It turned out he _did_ have a surprising amount of baking ingredients—probably something left over from when his parents had visited. He busied himself with the coffee maker as Eric started to whip things in a ceramic mixing bowl, and soon enough there was a pleasant, cinnamon smell, and the sound of Eric’s soft tenor as he hummed through a few bars of what sounded like a pop song.

Jack wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so as the coffee brewed, he walked into the living room and switched on the TV for background noise. It was ESPN, but he wasn’t really in the mood, so he walked back to the breakfast counter and leant over.

“Can I ask what you’re making?”

“Coffee cake muffins,” Eric said with a wink. He was already scooping large dollops of batter into a muffin tin that Jack also didn’t realise he owned. “I like them on rainy days, and they don’t take long to bake up.” He hesitated, then asked, “Do you bake?”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “No. My dad though, after he retired he ahh…took up culinary arts as a hobby? He’s always experimenting when he and my mom come visit.”

Eric grinned, his dark eyes bright and kind. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s something,” Jack said, shaking his head back and forth a little. But talking about his dad got him thinking about the leaked footage, and then paparazzi, and the reason they were here in Jack’s apartment instead of at some café.

He didn’t realise he was frowning so hard until he felt a warm hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Jack huffed a breath and dragged one hand through his hair. “I’ve been better.” He glanced to the side, and his eyes widened as he realised the sleet had turned to snow in the short time they’d been inside. The drops of water were now large puffs of white as they cascaded by the window. He hoped maybe, if it was bad enough, it would deter any more of the gossip columnists from hounding his steps. At least for the day.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener,” Eric said, drawing Jack’s attention back away from the window. “But if not, I totally understand.”

“It’s just…a lot.” In truth, Jack was allowing himself to bask in the relief of Eric not knowing who he was. Of being able to be inside his apartment with a stranger who didn’t already have some idea about who he was as a person simply because they’d read his wiki. Explaining why his day had been terrible would mean confessing everything, and even if Eric didn’t know now, it always changed things when people found out who he was.

Eric hummed, but didn’t press the issue. Instead he slid the muffins into the oven, set the timer, then poured two cups of coffee. “Black?” he offered.

“Please,” Jack said, and smiled a little as Eric passed him the larger of the two mugs.

They moved to the living room, the TV still on, but quiet in the background, and they took opposite sides of the sofa, turned slightly toward each other. It should be awkward, this stranger in his apartment, but it was the most comfortable Jack had felt in a long time.

“You know, I’ve never done this before,” Eric said after a moment of silence, then he sipped his coffee as Jack stared at him.

“This?”

“Exactly what my momma warned me never to do. Follow some good looking stranger home.” He smiled and winked. “You just looked so…defeated.”

“Well today bested me, and that doesn’t happen a lot,” Jack confessed. “I…it’s sort of family drama,” he offered. “But then it got more…public. People started prying, and I couldn’t escape the questions.” He winced at his cryptic words, but Eric didn’t seem bothered.

“Sounds like a lot, Jack,” he said softly. “I mean, that’s all people do back home, you know? Worry about this and that, all in each other’s business. But even growing up that way, it never got less exhausting. It’s different up here, it was an adjustment, but being left alone felt nice. Until it got a little…”

“Lonely?” Jack offered, and Eric smiled, nodding. Jack shrugged. “I think even having people know things about you doesn’t make the loneliness stop. Especially because they think knowing facts mean they know who you are as a person that’s…that’s not the case. That’s never the case.”

“You sound like you get that a lot,” Eric said.

Jack’s cheeks pinked, and he stared down at his fingers which were curled tight round his coffee mug. “It…happens.”

“Does it have anything to do with that man on the TV right there who looks like he could be your twin?”

Jack felt a twinge in his neck as he whipped his head round so fast, he nearly pulled something. He hadn’t really _thought_ when he put on ESPN, though he should have. But it was just…routine. But there he was, his dad, the current image of him standing with his arms round a teammate with a huge grin, his Habs jersey bright in the lights of the locker room.

_“…legendary Bob Zimmermann couldn’t be reached for comment. One of our reporters attempted to reach out to his son, captain of the Falconers’ Jack Zimmermann, but he was unavailable after the team’s practise today.”_

Jack didn’t dare look over at Eric, didn’t look anywhere but at his feet where his socked toes were attempting to dig into the throw rug, and he wondered how bad it would be if he just…up and ran.

“Jack?” Eric said softly.

Jack glanced up, and saw a worried look on his face. “You didn’t know who I was. It felt…nice?”

“I still don’t know who you are,” Eric pointed out. “We only just met not an hour ago.”

After a second, Jack let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Uh…”

“Hockey Team captain, hmm?” Eric asked.

Jack shrugged. “It’s just a job.”

“Well I think you and I know that hockey captain is more than _just_ a job,” Eric said, and while Jack hated it, it was still true. After a beat, Eric asked, “Do you want to talk about it now?”

Jack let out a rush of air, and realised there was no point in keeping it a secret now. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak. “Someone found some old photos of my parents on a nude beach back before I was born,” Jack confessed. “The world must be…I don’t know, _bored_ to care so much about all that.” Jack huffed, and he didn’t miss the look of pained sympathy on Eric’s face. “The reporters haven’t left me alone. I found them by my car after practise, and I just…I ran. I got on the bus and then I…”

“Had your umbrella stolen by some stranger?” Eric offered with a smile.

Jack couldn’t help his laugh, and he leant back slightly, and then over just a fraction toward Eric. “Something like that. The stranger turned out to be very nice though. Came over and made me muffins and coffee.”

“Sounds like a heck of a guy,” Eric said, his smile getting wider.

Jack thumbed the rim of his coffee, his cheeks bright red, but feeling braver than he had in years. “He’s certainly something. I think. I don’t really know him well. But I’d…I’d like to.”

Eric’s face went bright, eyes wide with shock, but also hope, and Jack wanted to keep that there for as long as he could.

“I mean, if he’s interested…” Jack finished.

Eric made a noise, then cleared his throat. “Oh, I think he’s interested. I think he’s very interested.”

Jack, careful and cautious, laid his hand down, palm up, between them. He met Eric’s gaze and said, “Good.”

After a long pause, Eric slowly let his hand fall onto Jack’s and their fingers tangled together. Jack felt the warmth shooting from the tips of his fingers, straight into his thumping heart, and they both grinned. They didn’t know each other yet…but there was time.

There was plenty of time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bed-Sharing- There are two beds, but only one blanket.
> 
> The team gets stranded at a B&B. Pre-slash, with some feelings.
> 
> Discussions of past homophobic team members. Jack's thoughts on being closeted.

Jack ignored the grumbling of the rest of his teammates as they trudged toward the B&B, the ghost of the burnt oil stench from the bus’s mechanical failure still lingering in the air. It was by some probably literal miracle that the B&B was not only here—in the middle of this god-forsaken nowhere road to Princeton, but that it was vacated.

Jack didn’t even want to think about how the universe worked right now. He just wanted to get inside, and get everyone to bed so they would be fresh for the game tomorrow that they were going to make—even if it meant walking there.

Not that anyone would follow him on foot, but still…

“…Jack?”

He spun, realising Bittle had been saying his name for a while now, and he flushed, giving him a sheepish smile. “What’s up, Bits?”

“So everyone’s got rooms. There’s one left, got a twin and a double bed if you don’t mind bunking with me. Um…or I mean, I’m sure I could squeeze in with C…”

“Bittle, it’s fine,” Jack insisted, dropping a hand on Bitty’s shoulder and squeezing. “You know I don’t mind. It’s better than naked Shitty climbing into bed with me.”

Bitty laughed, shaking his head. “That boy, I swear.” He hefted his bag up over his shoulder, then nodded. “Come on, let’s get in. You’re already so far past your bedtime, you old man.”

“Chirp, chirp, Bittle,” Jack said, but he was smiling as he hefted his bag up and followed Bitty up the stairs.

It was all well and good—warm and comforting, until Bitty opened the door to their room and froze. Jack, who hadn’t been paying too much attention, nearly bowled him over as he skidded to a halt behind him.

“Bittle…what…”

“Uh.” 

Jack peered over Bitty’s shoulder and saw the room was made up nicely, two beds as promised. Except…the twin bed was nothing more than a naked mattress on the floor. The double was situated under the window with a fluffy, down duvet and two pillows, but Jack couldn’t spy extra bedding anywhere.

“Hang on just let me…I’ll go have a word with Mrs Jones, okay?”

Before Jack could protest, just suggest they say screw it and get in the damn bed because it was _late_ and they were all _tired_ , Bitty elbowed past him and hurried down the stairs.

With a sigh, Jack just turned and went into the room, dropping his bag on the naked mattress, then toed out of his shoes and found some sweats in his bag, and was just shrugging into a new t-shirt for sleep when Bitty returned, looking a little ashen faced and defeated.

He hesitated in the open doorway, then stepped in and his shoulders sagged. “There’s no extra bedding. Boys all took it for theirs and I…well. I bet Rans and Holtzy have room and I…”

“Bittle,” Jack said, putting on his captain voice. Bitty’s voice died off, and Jack sighed. “Bits, I don’t mind sharing. The bed’s big enough, and it’s not like we haven’t…I mean…I totally understand if I make you uncomfortable…”

“What?” Bitty said, his voice rising. His cheeks were bright red with a flush. “Jack, no. Oh my gosh I…that’s not…” He rubbed a hand down his face. “I just wasn’t sure you’d mind, you know? With me?”

“Because you’re gay,” Jack said flatly. And of course he’d never come out to Bitty—hadn’t come out to anyone on the team really, but not because he was afraid of how they’d feel. Jack just didn’t think it would ever matter. This was hockey, and that other stuff was…pointless. He hadn’t realised after all this time, Bittle still worried.

Bitty wasn’t looking at him when he shrugged. “It’s one thing to share the haus, to share a line, but it’s another to share a bed, Jack. I get it. I’m not hurt.”

“And I’m not uncomfortable, Bittle. I’d much rather be in here with you than with Shitty’s naked torso and pot leaf boxers.”

At that, Bitty chuckled again. “Well…if you’re sure.”

Jack reached out, grabbing Bitty by the wrist, and he pulled him further into the room. “I’m sure.” He made a point to turn away, though, to give Bittle as much privacy as he could to change, and he flicked the lights off when Bitty approached the bed and pulled back one side of the duvet.

It was warm, which was a nice reprieve from the frigid winter air outside, and though there was space between them—if only a fraction—Jack could feel Eric’s warmth next to him. The silence was heavy, just the sound of their soft breathing mingled together.

After a while, Jack turned on his side, and found Bitty on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He reached out, letting his fingers gently brush Bitty’s wrist to get his attention. “Bittle.”

“Mm?”

“I…I know I wasn’t the nicest. So maybe I didn’t give you a reason to trust me before and I’m sorry about that.”

Bitty turned onto his side, putting his other hand next to Jack’s which was still laying flat between them. Their fingers brushed together gently. “You’ve apologised enough, Jack,” he insisted. “Really. It isn’t you. I just, I know it can be a little…” He didn’t seem to be able to find the words, and as much as Jack wanted to rush in and tell Bittle that it wasn’t a big deal, it wasn’t anything, he didn’t want to minimise Bitty’s fears. Because he knew exactly what Bitty was saying. He knew those guys. They had all been on teams with those guys. And Jack knew now why Bittle was afraid of being checked, knew exactly why he was hesitant to be himself, even here, on this team, who loved him for exactly who he was.

“I get it,” Jack finally said. Because he did. He’d spent a lot of sleepless nights in the Q wondering what he’d say or do if anyone ever walked in on him and Parse. He hadn’t fallen for a guy since then, so it hadn’t been a worry. But he remembered exactly what it was like. “I just need you to know that it doesn’t matter to me. You’re my favourite person on this team, okay? And even if it hadn’t been you getting stuck with me because everyone else picked partners, I would have picked you.”

Though it was dark, Jack could see the way Eric’s cheeks darkened with a flush, and the way his mouth quirked up in a half smile. “I would have picked you too.” Then, after a beat, “If I cuddle you in my sleep, I apologise. It’s not…”

“Intentional?” Jack offered, then reached out and abandoned all pretence as he let his hand hold Bitty’s. It was platonic, but there was the tiny, flicker of fire burning somewhere deep inside him that whispered, _it could also be something else_. He ignored it for now, as he shuffled a little closer. “I promise I won’t mind. Now get some sleep, eh. We have a big game tomorrow.”

Bitty grinned back at him, and allowed what was left of the space between them to close, and he let out a soft breath as his eyes closed. “Good night, Jack.”

“Night, Bittle,” he said.

With their hands clasped together, as the snow fell outside, the two of them slept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fake Relationship- High school reunion trophy spouse
> 
> Warnings: Mentions of past infidelity (Bitty/OC-- from the OC), homophobic old classmates.

Once upon a time, when there was a knock at Jack’s door, he didn’t expect Eric Bittle to be on the other side of it. But that was three years ago. A long, long, quiet three years ago. Not that Jack minded, really. Jack was the sort of socially anxious introvert who didn’t actually mind being social so long as the person he was with didn’t mind carrying most of the conversation.

And Eric certainly did not.

Jack hadn’t realised that the brightly smiling architect with the heavy southern drawl would insert himself so fully into Jack’s life by way of random, homemade baked goods and late-night conversation. And it was hard to remember what life was like before him.

And even now, late into a Thursday night when Jack had to force himself away from watching tape to find out what Bittle wanted, he found he didn’t mind _too_ much.

“Something I can help you with?” Jack asked.

Bittle’s face was kind of pallid, apart from splotchy pink on his cheeks which was the tell-tale sign of a bit too much red wine. He swaggered in and plopped himself on a stool at Jack’s breakfast bar before letting his head thunk against the dark marble counter.

“Well, Jack, if you could just kill me now and put me out of my misery, that would be great.”

“As nice as that sounds at midnight on a Thursday,” Jack said dryly.

Bitty’s head popped up, his face drawn and apologetic. “Oh _lord_ I didn’t even…Oh Jack, hun, I’m so sorry. I’m…I should go, I should…”

Jack stopped him with a heavy hand on his shoulder, pushing him back to a sit. “What is it, Bittle. You didn’t come all this way, half drunk, for nothing.”

“It’s just my…my reunion.”

Jack blinked. “Reunion.”

“Ten year,” Bittle said, then laughed half-hysterical. “Lord, ten years since high school. Ten dang years since I last saw those…those…” He blew out a puff of air and swiped his hand down his face. “They weren’t nice, those boys.”

Jack frowned. “Okay?”

“I sent in my RSVP last year, when the invites came out. When Ethan and I…” Bittle stopped, coughing, and Jack recalled with frightening clarity the two weeks Bittle spent on his sofa watching sad rom-coms and sobbing into his throw pillows as Ethan cleared his stuff out of Bittle’s apartment.

It was not pretty. And it gave Jack a lot of graphically violent fantasies about what he’d do if he ever saw Ethan walking down the street.

But that was not the point.

“It makes me feel like such an epic failure to not show up. I couldn’t stop braggin’ him up on the facebook page, you know? I was just really looking forward to showing them that even a queer boy like me could make something of himself, that you can be gay and be in love and be happy and just…apparently I was _wrong_ …”

“You’re not wrong,” Jack said quietly, reaching over to curl his fingers round Bitty’s wrist. He captured his gaze carefully. “Bits, you are going to have all those things, okay? Just because Ethan was a cheating piece of shit doesn’t mean that’s going to be everyone.”

Bitty let out a tiny laugh, leaning his head on his other hand. “What do I do?” he asked miserably. “I can’t show up alone. I can’t face them alone, Jack.”

He wasn’t sure what made him do it, why the words just sort of blurted from his lips, but when they did, he didn’t take them back. “I’ll go with you. I’ll be your boyfriend.” Then he froze, silent, and waited.

There was a long, long moment as Bittle blinked at him, then cleared his throat. “You’re not joking?”

“I’m not joking, Bits.”

“You…but that’s…why? Why would you do that?”

Jack couldn’t help a small laugh, shrugging. “Because you want to go. It’s important to you, and I…well. I’d have to check and see if I have the time off but…”

Bitty reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, flashing the screen at Jack. “It’s over New Years.”

“We don’t have a game. We have four days off,” Jack said with a shrug. “I can get a ticket.”

“I have one,” Bitty said, very quietly. “Ethan’s.”

Jack felt a surge of vicious joy to know he was taking Ethan’s place. He’d never liked the guy. He had a jealous streak whenever he and Bitty hung out together—the ugly kind, but he took his frustration out on Bitty, not Jack. And maybe it was a little biased, because Jack was no fool. He knew he liked Bitty—he had for some time. But Bitty had always been taken, until six weeks ago.

“So let me do this for you,” Jack said, and slowly drew his hand away. “I want to.”

Bitty looked at him a long time, then a soft, sweet smile curled over his mouth. “Alright, Jack. I accept.”

Jack couldn’t help but grin back.

*** 

Jack had not expected Bitty to be a nervous flyer, but luckily the Atlanta airport wasn’t too far, and soon enough they were in the rental car Jack insisted on paying for, heading to the hotel Bitty had booked for the two of them.

When Bitty froze in the doorway, Jack put a hand on his waist to keep from toppling him over as he peered over the top of Bitty’s head. “What is it?”

“I forgot I uh…”

Jack’s eyes narrowed on a small table set up near the bed, chocolate covered strawberries and a champagne bottle chilling in an ice bucket. There were flower petals on the bed, and a box of chocolates.

“Romance package,” Bitty said, his voice quiet and a little hoarse. “There’s only one bed.”

Jack chuckled, then eased Bitty inside. “You know I don’t drink, but the chocolates will be a good midnight snack as we get our story straight. And I’m a cuddler when I sleep, so I hope you don’t mind being spooned.” He was joking, of course. Mostly.

Bitty looked at him, startled, but he was still grinning as Jack threw his case on the floor, pushed the flower petals into the bin, and then patted the duvet for Bitty to sit, so they could go over their story.

*** 

By the time they headed down—dressed smartly in well tailored suits with matching coloured ties—Jack’s a Windsor knot, Bitty’s a bowtie—they had come up with their story. It wasn’t too far off how they’d met in real life, which helped keep Jack from feeling too overwhelmed by a lie.

Bitty had moved into the building, they’d met in the lift, later on he’d brought over pie and failed to mention the rhubarb which Jack was allergic to. Bitty had scrambled for Jack’s epi-pen, then went with him to the emergency room to ensure he was fine.

After that, he’d baked him a rhubarb-free dessert every single night for a month, leaving them on Jack’s doorstep until he’d finally gone up there to tell Bittle that it was fine, all was forgiven, and he had to stop feeding the professional hockey player so much sugar.

They left out the next part where Jack had met Ethan for the first time, and nearly got into a fist-fight with him. Instead they crafted a slow-burning love story which led them here—Jack, his long-term boyfriend—first out LGBT player in the NHL, madly in love with Bittle.

It was only partly true, though Jack didn’t even want to think about the realities of admitting he was in love with Bitty.

Not yet.

The reunion was being held in a ballroom of a posh resort since the school was going through a remodel. Jack appreciated not having to set foot in a gym which reeked of teenage athlete, and he appreciated that Madison, Georgia was not only small, but far from a hockey town which meant very few people would recognise him.

Even if he had made waves years ago when he came out.

They reached the welcome table, and Bitty got his little badge: **Eric R. Bittle** , and Jack was adorned with a guest one. He reached out and took Bitty’s hand in his, giving his fingers a squeeze as they walked through the doors and into the room.

There was a large buffet set up with apps, and a long bar in the back where most of the crowd had gathered. He could feel Bitty’s hand shaking in his, and ignoring the few stares they were already getting, Jack pulled him close, pushing his nose into the side of Bitty’s neatly combed hair.

“Hey, Bits. You okay?”

“It’s just me,” Bitty said softly. “Just me who…I mean, there were others. Of course there were others, but they didn’t come. It’s just me.”

“It isn’t just you,” Jack assured him. “I’m right here.”

Bitty let out a tiny, almost hysterical laugh, nodding as he pulled Jack closer. “God, this is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Probably,” Jack agreed. “So let’s get you a drink and get this ball rolling, eh?”

“Oh god, you’re Canadian. They’re going to love that almost as much as the bi thing,” Bitty said, then threw up his hands and marched forward.

*** 

It wasn’t as bad as Bitty had predicted, Jack supposed as he sipped on a tonic water. Bitty was halfway into his second peach bellini and talking enthusiastically with both hands as a few women—two very visibly pregnant—nodded along.

Their husbands were on Jack’s left, eyeing him with some caution Jack was used to when people looked at him. His job was physical, and it showed, even under his suit, especially this far into season. He coughed, rubbed the back of his neck, then sipped his drink.

“So you’re like what? Swedish?” one of the guys asked.

Jack almost choked on his tonic, clearing his throat before he answered. “I’m Canadian? I grew up on Montreal.”

The men frowned. “Canadian,” one of them said. “They got that free healthcare up there? And gay marriage?”

“We got gay marriage here, too, Charlie,” one of the women talking to Bitty piped up.

“One out of two isn’t bad,” Jack said, and felt a thrill when Bitty laughed.

“Sure, if you wanna die on your doctor’s wait list,” Charlie snapped back.

Jack sighed and decided it was so not worth the argument.

“So you what? Ice skate?” another one of the guys asked. “Dicky used to do that, didn’cha? All dressed up in glitter, twirling around the ice and shit?”

They all laughed, and Jack gripped his glass tighter, moving a fraction closer to Bitty. “I’m the captain of the Providence Falconers,” he said.

“They just won their second Stanley Cup. In a row,” Bitty said through clenched teeth.

“Which comes in second to the two golds Bits won in his sophomore year,” Jack said, squaring his shoulders, letting his eyes narrow at them. Jack was no stranger to the Olympics, though he didn’t compete the year Bitty had one his medals—singles and pairs—but when he found out how prolific Bitty was, Jack knew there was no turning back. And now he was being given free-reign to boast about it to these people who couldn’t see the actual treasure sitting right under their noses.

Next to him, Bitty choked a little, but Jack felt him reach down and take his hand. “It was just the one Olympics,” Bitty said quietly.

“Yes, and I’ve only got two silvers,” Jack said, just as soft.

They looked at each other, and for a minute, Jack felt like he was drowning in the rich browns of Bitty’s eyes.

“You’re not going to start making out, right?”

Jack’s gaze snapped away from Bitty, to the men who were smirking at him. Before either of them could say anything, the woman with the largest stomach stepped forward. “Jesus, you three haven’t changed. That might be not only the saddest thing I’ve ever heard, but probably why you showed up here alone.” She turned back to Bitty and Jack. “Come on, let’s leave these three to their memories. I mean, it can’t be easy when you peaked in high school.”

Jack almost laughed, especially when he caught how pink their cheeks had gone. But he only had a moment to silently gloat before Bitty was dragging him back to a table, a renewed bounce in his step that Jack could have kissed the woman for.

It might not have gone exactly to plan, but Bitty was smiling, and that’s all that mattered.

*** 

The night flew by after that. A few awards handed out—Bitty wasn’t recognised for anything, but Jack had a feeling Bitty was grateful not to be singled out in front of everyone. The crowd began to trickle out shortly after that, leaving only a few dozen people who were still drinking, a couple dancing.

It was a spur of the moment thing when Jack reached over, touching Bitty’s wrist as he leant in and whispered, “Dance with me?” He didn’t take it back.

Bitty looked up at him with wide eyes, but he didn’t hesitated in putting his drink down and letting Jack drag him to the middle of the dance floor. People were staring, but no one said a word as Jack curled his arms round Bitty’s waist, and the two of them began to sway with the music.

“You’ve done real good tonight,” Bitty said after a few minutes. He pressed himself a little closer as he said, “You definitely got your momma’s acting talent.”

Jack stared at him, the words bubbling in his chest like he wasn’t going to be able to stop them, even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. “I act just like my dad,” he said. “They met on a set for a Tim Horton’s ad, did I ever tell you that?”

Bitty shook his head.

Jack shrugged, pulling Bitty so close, they were pressed from thigh to torso, and he leant his head in to speak even softer, but still heard over the music. “He couldn’t remember his lines, and he was so gone over her, every time she smiled at him, he’d start laughing. It took an extra two days to get usable footage, and they never asked my dad to do another commercial, ever again.”

Bitty snorted. “Yeah but…that’s not…you’ve been great tonight. Everyone believes you.”

Jack licked his lips, then confessed. “I’m not acting, Bits. I tried. Um. I wanted to, but I’ve been kind of in love with you for months. I didn’t want to…I mean you and Ethan were…” He stopped when Bitty took a slight step back.

“…what…”

Jack cleared his throat and loosened his grip in case Bitty wanted to move completely away. He felt a sort of strange relief when he didn’t. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before, but I didn’t want to take advantage while you were still getting over him.”

“You like me.” It wasn’t a question, but Jack nodded anyway. “You want to date me,” Bitty said.

Jack breathed out. “Yes. Yes, I want to date you, and kiss you, and sometimes when I think of ten years down the road, you’re there. Still. With me. I like you.”

Bitty made a wounded noise, but instead of running off like Jack expected, he surged forward, and he kissed him. It caught Jack by surprise, but only for a moment before he wrapped his arms round Bitty’s waist and kissed back like he might never get the chance to do it again.

When Bitty pulled back, Jack chased him with a soft series of little pecks until Bitty was back on his feet, and holding Jack by the shoulders. “So the romance package?”

Jack grinned at him, drawing his hands down to thread his fingers with Bitty’s. “If you’ve had enough rubbing your success in your old classmates’ faces, I’d love to head back and take full advantage.”

Bitty grinned, a little sweet, a little feral, and went up on his toes to kiss Jack one more time. “Oh sweetheart. I’m so ready.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huddling for warmth: Quit putting your freezing feet on me and just get over here and snuggle already.
> 
> Canon-divergence: Samwell era, pre-slash with feelings. Hopeful open ending.

“Bittle!” Jack’s voice cut through the din of the haus living room so harsh, it made Bitty jump in his seat.

He glanced over, a little sheepish because he knew what it was about, he just…his feet were _cold_. It was snowing faster than the ploughs could keep up with the roads, and he’d managed to get home before he completely froze over. Instead of going upstairs, Bitty had just trudged into the living room and curled up in the seat Shitty had vacated. He’d managed to get off his wet shoes and socks, and had attempted to—surreptitiously—stick his feet against Jack.

Which apparently had gone noticed.

His face flushed, and he tucked his feet back. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Jack, who was wrapped in a thick, large Habs throw, gave Bitty a mildly unimpressed look. It seemed, like most in the haus, he was only able to resist Bitty’s big, sad eyes for a moment because eventually he sighed, unwrapping the throw from his shoulders and grabbing Bitty with one hand.

He bossed the smaller man round until he was tucked up against Jack’s side, then the fleece blanket fell over their legs and Jack, sweet and careful, tugged it up until it was high on Bitty’s chest.

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty murmured softly.

“Be quiet and watch the movie, Bittle,” was Jack’s reply, but it was more fond than snappy, and Bitty found himself smiling softly as he turned his gaze back to the TV.

*** 

He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but who could blame him when the giant of a hockey player whose side he was currently tucked into, hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. The blanket combined with Jack’s body heat created the perfect storm of comfort, and Bitty found himself in a half-doze as everyone went about the rest of their night.

Shitty was the last to turn in, and Bitty registered him leaning over, pressing a kiss to his temple before he said, “Tuck this lil fucker in, yeah?”

Jack snorted. “Go to bed, Shits,” and then he tightened his grip on Bitty as Shitty headed up the stairs and out of sight. After a long moment, Jack sighed. “I know you’re awake, Bittle.”

Bitty burrowed closer, shoving his face against the side of Jack’s chest, and tried not to feel his heart quicken when he felt Jack give a shuddering breath. “Comfy here, don’t wanna move,” he murmured.

There was a moment of hesitation, then Jack’s fingers curled into Bitty’s hair, brushing softly along the shorn sides. “You’ll regret it in the morning. You hate this couch.”

Bitty scowled, but it was true. He’d been so snow-logged he hadn’t really considered where he was sitting, but now he swore he could hear the microscopic germs planning their formation, ready to attack. He squirmed a little, and Jack sighed, hauling Bitty fully onto his lap.

Unable to stop the faint _meep_ from rushing out, Bitty looked anywhere but at Jack’s face. Which in the end led him to staring down to where Jack’s very large hands were gripping his waist. 

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

Bitty finally found the courage to look up, and he found Jack’s face unreadable. “It’s late,” Bitty said.

Jack nodded. “It is.”

Licking his lips, he saw Jack’s eyes widen a fraction, saw them follow the movement of his tongue. Bitty’s word felt like it was suddenly rearranging and he reached out, letting one hand curl against the side of Jack’s neck. He waited, primed to pull back if he went too far, but instead Jack leant into it. “We should get upstairs. Walk me to my room?”

Jack bit his lip, then nodded, and Bitty swore he heard a faint noise of protest as he slid off Jack’s lap and stood. It was physical, the absence of Jack’s body against his, but it lasted only a moment when Jack’s hand took his, and the blanket was round his shoulders.

Bitty looked up with a smile, and he saw the same nervous hope and anticipation reflected in Jack’s own, heavy-lidded eyes. Bitty squeezed his hand, and he felt a squeeze back, like a promise as Jack stuck close behind while they ascended the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should add a quick note to say I have these already written-and I'm just giving them a quick glance over before I post.
> 
> Pregnancy/Baby/Kid-fic: Holding their son/daughter for the first time

“You know this means we’ll be celebrating Christmas every year now, right?”

Jack gave Bitty the most unimpressed look he could muster, which wasn’t very unimpressed at all considering he had the smallest bundle of new born baby in his arms. She was three weeks early, and she didn’t have a name yet, and it was by some miracle the Falconers weren’t playing tonight which meant when the call came in that she was arriving early, Jack and Bitty were together.

The drive had been perilous and they nearly died six times, but Bitty was convinced it was sheer will alone that got them through the heavy snowfall and to the hospital in one piece to greet this child as she came into the world.

The labour was exactly three hours and nine minutes long. She came out at ten twenty-three, on Christmas Eve, all six pounds, two ounces of her. She yelled for long, long minutes as they cleaned her up and gave her her first jabs, and took all her vitals, then wrapped her in a thick, yellow blanket and passed her over to her waiting dads.

The moment the weight of her was settled in Bitty’s arms, he let out a tiny, “Oh,” and then did this strange combination of laugh-sob as Jack wrapped round him from behind. This was the being they’d worked so hard for, trial after trial failing and coming up negative until finally they got the call that their surrogate had been able to conceive and in nine-ish months, they’d have a baby to hold.

They were in the baby’s private room now—which was strange seeing such an empty space, with just a little hospital cot, and a reclining chair for the parents to sleep in if they planned on staying—which yes, of course they did. She’d slept most of her first hours, but she was fussy now, so Jack had taken her to the window and rocked her gently back and forth as the snow continued to fall, blanketing the city.

Bitty watched from his place on the reclining chair, curled fist propping up his cheek, and he felt the strangest sense of rightness. Strange, because there had been many years Bitty hadn’t really wanted this. He loved kids, but he wasn’t sure having his own was something he was ever going to want.

There was no way to pinpoint when that changed, either. He and Jack spent years tiptoeing around the idea, and frankly what kept Bitty quiet was how often Jack was gone, and how much he would have to sacrifice on his own because Jack couldn’t really take sick days, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, Bitty’s schedule was the more flexible one.

But then Jack said he was done. His knees and hips weren’t functioning the way they used to, and he wanted something else. So he started taking online classes for his Master’s, and was thinking about teaching. And then…it just happened.

It was just a conversation, simple as that.

“Do you think you want kids?”

“I think I’d like to have kids with you.”

Bitty hadn’t considered how quickly time would go by once they’d decided this. But it was Jack’s last year—his final hurrah with the Falcs before they raised his jersey to the rafters and bid him farewell. Four Stanley Cup rings, six Conn Smythes, and one Calder. It wasn’t record-setting, but it was on his own merits, and Bitty had never been so proud.

He was glad now, that he’d be holding Jack’s baby as they watched him play his final game—whenever that was. It was a good time to move on to whatever came next.

Jack sighed, stroking his finger down her cheek which looked absurdly huge against her small face. “It’s not Christmas. It’s her _birthday_ which is far superior.”

Bitty grinned at him. “True. She’s not going to love it. No one will come to her party.”

“Everyone that matters will,” Jack said, fierce and protective. He cradled her tighter to his chest, his eyes glancing back out the window for a moment to watch the snow fall a little more. It looked yellow, pallid in the washed-out lights over the cars, but there was a sort of surreal feeling to it—not just the snow, not just the storm, but to all of it. To being a parent now—in that sudden, terrifying way.

Because Bitty didn’t really know what he was doing. Most of adulthood was pretending like he knew what the fuck was going on and hoping someone believed him. And now he was going to be pretending and trying to convince his kid he was up to the task of raising her to be a good, strong, brave person. He wondered if it was like that for his parents.

“Tomorrow’s going to be bonkers,” Bitty muttered, yawning. He glanced at the clock and saw it had just gone midnight. “They’re all going to be here.”

“Not if the storm keeps up.” Jack crossed over to him, easing into the chair which was really only meant for one person, let alone an NHL captain. But they made it work, Jack laying their daughter against his chest, her little cheek smooshed against his pec. Bitty curled into his side, his butt uncomfortably wedged on the arm of the chair, but he wouldn’t be anywhere else, not for the most comfortable spot in the universe.

He reached out, touching her little face because he could. Because she was theirs. 

“Is it wrong that I hope it gets worse, and we get these few days with her? It feels selfish,” Jack said quietly, even as he laid his hand along her back.

Bitty laughed softly, shaking his head. “No, sweetpea. I want that too. I just want to savour these quiet moments before we have to share her.”

Jack sighed. “She needs a name. I just…I thought we had a little more time. I thought it would just come to me when I looked at her. Like she’s just…”

“Look like something other than an over-baked potato?” Bitty asked.

Jack scowled at him. “She’s your daughter!”

“She’s yours. And you know she does. Doesn’t mean she’s not the world’s most gorgeous over-baked potato, but Jack…”

They stared at each other, then burst into laughter, even as Jack held her a little closer, a little more protective.

“It’s not going to be a food name, Bittle,” Jack warned.

Bitty sighed, laying his head against Jack’s shoulder and staring down at her. “She needs something more fitting. Something that’ll sound right when she takes her place in the universe.”

“It’ll come to us,” Jack said.

Bitty nodded, and let his eyes drift closed. He knew sleep wouldn’t last long, nor would the peace between them. But he would be selfish with these few moments while he had them. After all, they had the rest of their lives for the chaos.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arranged Marriage: I’ve been betrothed to someone since birth, but I’ve never met them before. Omg, who is this gorgeous stable hand who I’ve never met before? 
> 
> Fantasy AU

It was normal to suffer nerves, his parents had warned him. When it was something like this—a wedding, a wedding to a prince with a terrible reputation of being cold and callous, it was not out of the ordinary to be afraid.

“Just give it time.”

“He’ll come around.”

“It’s to join kingdom, you won’t be expected to attend him beyond the wedding night.”

None of the platitudes were very placating at all, actually. His nerves were shot, and it was no surprise that Eric found himself in breeches and shirt sleeves, huddling in the warm barn, brushing down his horse. It was an old pastime which calmed him, gave him focus, let him think ahead before he let his nerves get the better of him.

He expected to be alone this night, of course. It was the dead of winter, and several feet of snow obscured the path from the barn to the castle. It was unfamiliar grounds for him, but he appreciated that he was alone now.

Until the doors opened, and a stranger walked in.

Eric jumped, dropping the brush, and he spun to see the dark-haired stranger striding in looking as harried as he did. He was gorgeous, a little rumpled in what looked like a sleep shirt tucked into riding breeches, but his face was stoic—the quiet sort of beauty Eric had always appreciated.

His eyes, which at first had been half-lidded and almost sad, widened. “I was told the servants had been dismissed.”

Eric realised he hadn’t been recognised, and he was quick to take advantage. There was no greater danger than being a prince without a retinue of guards in unfamiliar lands. “I was just…tending to the horses for the night. I’m sorry, I can…”

“It’s fine,” the man said, waving his hand. His accent was strong, but his words were clear and steady. “I just needed to step away. You came with the King and Queen of Madison?”

Eric nodded his head just once. “And you? Work for the castle here?”

“I…” The man cleared his throat, shrugged, and didn’t give an answer. 

It was then Eric noticed his hands were shaking, and he took a cautious step forward. “Are you alright? You look terrified.”

The man looked at him, then gave a quiet, startled laugh. “I…didn’t expect to feel this way. Tomorrow’s such a big day, and I’ll be entering into a marriage with some person I have never met. My parents signed the betrothal agreement before I was born, and it just seems so…”

“Unfair that you should have such a huge thing decided without your consent?” Eric offered. He was stunned now, realising who he was speaking to. His fiancé. Gorgeous, almost sweet in a way, nothing like he’d been described. Prince Jack.

Jack laughed softly, shrugging. “Something like that. It’s…a good way of putting it.”

“I think it’s an unfair custom. I wouldn’t want to put my children through such a thing.”

Jack scoffed, but not cruelly. “It’s not so easy when you’re…”

“A king?” Eric offered, then flushed and gave a half-bow so as not to give himself away. “Your highness.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I preferred it when you didn’t know who I was.”

“We can continue to pretend,” Eric offered.

Jack’s eyes went wide, but he nodded and smiled. “Thank you…?”

“Most of my friends call me Bits.” A few of them, around the castle, who had been with Eric since he was a child.

Jack’s smile widened a little more. “Bits.” He glanced round, then walked to a saddle bag and pulled out several pieces of fruit which must have been left over from a ride earlier that day. There was a small pouch of sweets, which Jack poured into his hand, and offered some over. “I know where the stable hands keep their stashes.”

Eric laughed and took a few pieces, smiling at the sweet taste. “Thank you.”

Jack shrugged. “Consider it my own thanks, for keeping my mind off things.”

Eric nodded, then hesitated before pointing to the ladder. “There’s a blanket up there. We can sit and watch the snow for a little bit if you like. It’s cold but…”

Jack nodded. “That sounds nice.”

They ascended the ladder together, and Eric arranged the blankets on the ground before grabbing the least scratchy one, loping it round both their shoulders. They had to huddle, but Eric felt strangely soothed by the warmth of his betrothed next to him. He supposed this was playing with fate, supposed he was risking the prince’s wrath come tomorrow afternoon when Jack saw him for the first time but…

But Eric felt like he needed this, felt like the only way he was going to get through the day is if he knew that somewhere Jack was more than what the people said about him.

“Did you want a winter wedding?” Eric asked.

Jack snorted. “I suppose I…hadn’t thought to care. I like winter. I love snow, love ice. It seems fitting.”

“And your fiancé?”

“We have never met. He registered no complaints—or if he did, he did not bring them to anyone’s attention. I’ve heard he’s…pliant.”

Eric bristled. “How’s that?”

Jack shrugged. “Malleable.”

“Is that what you wish for, in a prince consort?”

Jack huffed a small sigh. “No. The guards joke that it will make for an easy marriage, but I’ve never wanted…” He swallowed thickly, then looked at Eric carefully. “Sometimes I imagined something like this. Meeting someone, speaking with them, knowing them without my title getting in the way.”

Eric nodded, blinking slowly, wanting to take Jack’s hand, but not daring. “I suppose it can’t always be fantasy.”

Jack offered the last of the sweets, and when Eric’s hand started to draw away, Jack caught him by the wrist, and brought his knuckles up, kissing gently across them. “Would you run away with me?”

Eric’s eyes went wide. “I…your…it…”

Jack smiled, turning his hand to kiss the inside of his wrist. “I would abdicate my throne. We could live in a quiet cottage in the woods. No one would ever bother us.”

“Except the men who were sent to bring you home, and take me to the block for kidnapping the crown prince,” Eric warned.

Jack’s shoulders deflated, but his gaze remained steely. “I would not let them touch you.”

Eric hesitated, the truth on the tip of his tongue, but he was not brave. Instead he pushed to his knees and put one palm to Jack’s cheek. “A kiss. To get you through the night, and through the morning.” Then he moved in slow. Jack met him halfway, their lips pressing, dancing in a soft push-pull that was gentle, chaste, but a promise of more to come, if Eric would let it.

But tonight he would not. Tonight, this would be enough. 

He pulled back, a slow drag of his fingers away from Jack’s flush-warm skin, and he stood up into a crouch. “Be well, your highness.” He made for the ladder, and there was a small piece of him that felt a sting when Jack did not follow.

*** 

Eric was a mess of nerves as he was prepared to meet Jack. He was prodded and stitched into his wedding clothes, his family’s crown on his head, his cheeks pinched to give a ruddy glow. Then he was marched, flanked by guards as he approached the double doors.

His breath caught, a moment of fear that maybe Jack was not there. Maybe the crown prince had fled in the night, and would leave Eric alone at the altar.

The doors opened, and Eric could see him there, wearing a rich, royal blue, facing the front of the room. It stung that Jack did not look back, but Eric supposed it was better this way. Perhaps Jack would not lash out when he realised who that stable hand truly was, the young man with the stolen kiss.

His feet felt heavy, but he carried himself to Jack’s side, and then…

And then Jack looked.

His eyes widened, his lips parting. One hand flew to his mouth and brushed along like he was feeling the echo of the kiss. Eric swallowed, and met his gaze.

There was a long pause, and then the ceremony began, and Jack said nothing until he was directed to. 

It felt eternal, and Eric was shaking with nerves. Then they were instructed to kiss, and when Eric turned, he was swept to Jack’s chest, a warm hand on his cheek, and those lips once again, pressing to his own.

Jack pulled away after a moment, but he didn’t go far. “It was you,” he whispered against Eric’s ear.

“It was me,” Eric muttered back.

Jack swallowed thickly, then he said, “I had only ever wished to fall in love on my own. You…you gave that to me.”

Eric couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face, and he felt like he was floating as Jack took his hand as they turned to their family and was presented as the crown prince, and prince consort, destined to rule together.

Eric felt Jack’s fingers tighten on his, and they both smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enemies to Lovers: I’m trying to open a business in a new minimall and you’re protesting outside my door.

It wasn’t like Jack didn’t expect protesters. He’d been warned repeatedly by his father about the area where he was opening the newest Zimmermann’s. It was a tight-knit community who loved their independent businesses. And although Zimmermann’s was owned and operated solely by the Zimmermann family, they were…well, larger than most. They weren’t corporate, but it was easy to think why they were.

So yeah, Jack was expecting it.

He was not expecting the fiery ball of southern sunshine picketing outside the still-closed shop with a bright yellow sign covered in sharpie declaring Zimmermann’s the reason why small bakeries all over the continent were going out of business.

Which was, in fact, categorically untrue.

But he was no forced to sit in his office listening to the sing-song chants of this man who was yelling about how it was first starbucks, and now this and what was happening to small-town America.

Jack was exhausted and ready to just pick the man up by the scruff of his shirt and fling him across the street.

Which well, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t afford the bad PR.

So instead he went into the kitchen, which was now mostly functioning, and pulled out a tray of fresh sufganiyot—his mother’s own recipe which had been passed down to her for several generations. He whipped up a latte in the new machine which was working nicely, thank you very much, and he walked it outside.

The man was like a one-man army since most of his co-protesters had gotten bored a few days in. But there he was, wrapped in three layers, a toque, and a scarf, and still marching and shouting.

Jack squinted in the brightness of the winter sun, and walked straight up to the man whose voice faltered, and his sign sagged.

“I…I know who you are, Mr Zimmermann,” he declared.

Jack snorted. “Good for you.” He thrust the doughnut and coffee at the man who narrowed his eyes suspiciously at it. After a minute, Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. “It’s cold out here. And you’ve been at it for hours. You look like you could use a break.”

“Listen mister, you’re not going to shut me up or win me over with coffee and…and your mass-produced…ah…”

“Sufganiyah,” Jack said. “My mother’s recipe.”

The man’s eyes stayed suspicious, but he took it anyway since they had a small crowd now, who was watching with vague interest. He took a bite, and his eyes widened. “This didn’t come from a factory.”

Jack laughed. “No, it came from that kitchen right there, where everything is made.”

The protester’s mouth turned down in a frown, even as he sipped the latte and started to look actually defeated. “This changes nothing,” he said.

Jack shrugged. “I didn’t think it would. But it’s cold out here so I thought you could use something to warm you up.”

Then he turned and walked away, feeling a small burst of triumph. Especially when he didn’t hear the chants pick up again.

*** 

Jack was in his office the day before the official opening when he heard the door open. He cursed, having forgotten to lock it. He had his polite rebuke on the tip of his tongue when he walked out into the main floor, but he froze when he saw the protester there with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking a little sheepish.

He hadn’t been back for a few days, and Jack had been pretty sure he wasn’t going to see him again. Where that should have given him nothing but relief, he felt a strange disappointment, until right now.

“My name is Eric,” the man said the moment Jack walked out.

Jack’s eyes widened. “Nice to meet you. I’m Jack.”

“I know _that_ ,” Eric said with a small huff, and he walked up to the counter, leaning on it. “I looked you up.”

“Of course you did,” Jack said dryly.

“You’re the son of Bob Zimmermann, the owner of the certified kosher, family bakery who hasn’t yet franchised. Everything is made by hand, from family recipes passed down through both lines.” Eric sounded like he was reciting the wiki, which he probably was, and Jack couldn’t help his smile.

“We’re not actually Starbucks. We haven’t put anyone out of business.”

“The bakery I work at isn’t going to survive this,” Eric said.

Jack flinched a little. “If your bakery is going to go under, it’s not because I’m here. It’s because you were already at risk.”

Eric dragged a hand down his face. “I know that, Jack. I have my MBA, I know how finance works. I just got Margie to listen to me, and we…we won’t be able to get back on our feet with you here. You have too much brand loyalty.”

“The people in this neighbourhood love shops like yours, Eric,” Jack said pointedly.

“Not enough,” Eric said. He sighed, then shook his head. “Margie said it’s time to let go. I just…wanted to do something good. And I wasn’t really ready to lose my job.”

There was a tiny war going on inside Jack, and he already knew which side was going to win. “Are you any good?”

“At what?” Eric asked. “Baking, because yes. I have several first place championship ribbons and a culinary degree to back me up. At finance, well…that’s debatable considering my first job is a bakery which is going to go under…”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Jack pointed out.

Eric deflated. “Yeah, I do. We already have a closing date. I was just hoping to do something good before it all went to shit.” He slapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. And uh well, if you have a CV, there might be something I can do. About your ah…job situation?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

Jack shook his head. “I’m not. I like to think I have sway with the owner.”

Eric laughed, even as he rolled his eyes, then he stepped back and gave Jack a lingering look which went right to Jack’s middle, like a punch to the gut. “That sound very nice, Mr Zimmermann, but to tell you the truth, I think I’m going to have to turn you down.”

Jack felt the wave of disappointment like a punch to the gut. “Can I ask why?”

“Because if I come work for you, I won’t be able to ask you out. And I really, really want to ask you out,” he said.

“Oh,” Jack said, because he couldn’t find any other words. “Oh.”

Eric laughed. “So? How about it? I know this new place opening up. They make great coffee.”

Jack couldn’t help the smile from spreading across his face. “I think that sounds great, Eric.”

Eric laughed, then took a step back. “They open tomorrow. How about noon?”

Jack nodded. “Yes. Definitely. It’s a date.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on tumblr, [angryspace-ravenclaw](https://angryspace-ravenclaw.tumblr.com)


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